


No Substitutions, Exchanges or Refunds

by phipiohsum475



Series: TV Land [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animal Necropsy, Free the Frogs, M/M, TV Tropes, Teenlock, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was, in its own weird way, the sweetest gift he’d even been given. It was thoughtful; meaningful, and John was oddly touched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover Art

**Author's Note:**

> Contest Entry for [FuckYeahTeenLock](http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com)'s Rare Pair Contest.
> 
> Thanks to the fam for the beta help!
> 
> And in case you are unfamiliar; look at TV Trope's [Free the Frogs](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/FreeTheFrogs) page.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I won 2nd place in [FuckYeahTeenLock's Rare Pair Contest](https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/116762870713/L2j0uEAG) for this fic!!
> 
> Thank you for the Cover Art!


	2. Chapter 2

John was ready, having changed into a ratty jumper and an old pair of jeans. He shoved his nicer slacks into his locker, and swung his backpack around one shoulder. He made it three steps down the hall before he heard the pandemonium. A wave of noise and panic came closer and closer, like a tsunami, until finally, a single toad hopped into sight. John groaned, and more toads came into view. Boys and girls alike squealed, although it was just a bloke who tried to kick one down the hall, and missed when his girlfriend angrily pulled him back. John frowned, animal dissection was one thing, but cruelty?

Toads, near a hundred of them, likely one for everyone in Mr. Baker’s biology class today, trembled down the halls. John felt a draft and looked; Seb Moran had opened the door for the little buggers as they searched for freedom.

Well, there went the biology project. Hopping down the hall. Releasing the frogs was so… bloody cliché, John cursed. He really didn’t expect to deal with this today. He just wanted to dissect something. His first step towards medicine and it was ruined by some chaotic do-gooders. He went back to his locker and pulled out his nicer clothes. No use in wearing these old things if they weren’t slicing into anything today.

He changed, and made his way to Biology. Mr. Baker came in, seven minutes after the bell, with a sigh and an empty box. “It looks as though our project today is cancelled. Instead, I want a six thousand word essay on the-“ Baker was cut short by the blare of the fire alarm. “Oh, for-“ Baker held back his curse, and droned, “Out the door, class. Towards the 4th year lockers.”

The class filed out, chattering with excitement at the disruption. They wandered down the hall in groups rather than a single file line. John stuck next to Mike. “Well, today sucks.”

Mike laughed, “Oi, some of us are glad for the distraction.”

“Is it so bad to actually have an interest in my schoolwork? In biology? My future?” John tossed his arms up in exasperation.

“Calm down, mate, it’s just one project!”

John grumbled, “Bloody bullshit, is what it is.”

Mike laughed and clapped his back. They watched as the fire brigade entered the building. John sighed. What a wasted day.

-o-

John sulked for the rest of the day and shuffled his feet in the dry leaves on the sidewalk as he walked home. He kept up his pace; he heard people behind him. He knew who it was; Jim and Seb. Seb, well, he could handle Seb any day. He’d shown that in the first month, and Seb’d left him alone after that. But Jim was another beast entirely. Jim was an exotic, poison dart frog. Gorgeous, beautiful, and completely deadly. Fatal in close proximity.

John was maybe just little in love with him.

He walked faster. It wouldn’t do for Jim and Seb to catch up with him.

The leaves rustled as he went through them, and it was too late to jog ahead when he heard the leaves behind him crunch just moments before the hand on his shoulder.

“Johnny-boy,” the voice opposite of the hand spoke, and John shivered at the sound of the Irish lilt. It did things to him. Teased him. Taunted him.

John shook the offending hand off his shoulder. He didn’t like Seb touching him. John steeled his voice, “What do you want, Jim?”

“Did you like my little exhibition today?”

John groaned, “That was you? What the fuck, Jim? I was looking forward to that!”

Jim laughed, then affected a falsely somber look, “Looking forward to that? I think that might make you a psycho.”

“Bugger off.”

“I had no idea you’d be so offended. Would you believe that I felt-” Jim held a hand over his heart, “-morally bound?”

John snorted, “Fuck, no.”

Jim clapped him on the back, “Good man! I was bored, Johnny. You ever get bored?”

“I like biology. I like maths. I like school.”

“You like school because Daddy’s a drunk and Mummy doesn’t care.”

Despite the luring sound of his voice, John’s rage boiled up inside him. Deadly, or not, no one said bloody fuck all about his family without getting hit. He planted his foot and swung on the spot, but to his surprise, hit nothing but air.

Seb had pulled Jim aside, the ever present bodyguard. John cursed; _fuck the dog protecting his master_. “You a fucking pet, Seb? Gonna protect him forever?” He turned on Jim, “Why? Why the fuck do you care so much?”

Jim and Seb stepped back, but then Jim stared at him, the dead stare of a curious lizard. He came back towards John, “What was it? Mummy or Daddy? What brought that beautiful rage to the surface?”

John’s hands formed fists at his side and he prepared himself for a bloody battle, two against one. He was surprised when Jim held Seb back.

“Leave him be, Seb. He’s okay.” Jim held his arm out to block Seb’s advances while maintaining eye contact with John. “He’s okay.”

-o-

John went to sleep that night, having all but forgotten about the day’s disappointments. His arm still smarted from where the his father whipped the candlestick at him. He stifled the rage of injustice of having done absolutely nothing to deserve his father’s ire, but that was nothing new.

He woke suddenly, throwing a punch at an imagined attacker, and was surprised to hear “Christ, Johnny!” in a harsh whisper.

John sat up, confused and rubbing his eyes. He peered into the darkness at the figure clutching his arm. As his eyes adjusted, he exclaimed in hushed tones, “Jim? Moriarty? What the bloody fuck are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Guilt, my dear. Guilt. Which is rapidly declining in the face of this throbbing in my bicep.” Jim paused, sitting at the end of John’s bed, “Which begs the question, why is your immediately reaction to being woken up to punch the waker?”

John scoffed and corrected, “The wanker.”

“So Mommy it was.”

John’s face fell and his frustration dared to boil up from its hidden depths.

“No, no. I’ll leave it be.” Jim waved him off, and then smiled wide like a shark, “I’ve got a treat for you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s a surprise. Come on,” Jim stood and beckoned towards the window.

“Where do you think I’m going at-“ John pushed the button to light his watch, “-half two?”

“My place. Let’s go.”

John’s mind boggled, “You want me. To come with you. To your house.”

“Are you always this dull? I may have to rescind my offer.”

“Are you going to kill me?” John asked. At this time of night, it seemed a reasonable question.

“Fair, but no. Just come with me. You’ll see. Trust me.”

“You? The school psychopath?” Skepticism dripped from John’s voice.

“Let’s stop playing this game. You want to come with me. You’re intrigued by me. And the danger? Well, that’s just another day. It’s either new danger, or the same old danger from Daddy dearest.”

John grimaced, but shoved off the covers. “Fine.”

They crawled out the window together; John watched the curve of Jim’s slacks over his arse as he clamored out the window. He stared a few seconds before gaining his bearings and climbing out after him. They walked down the wet sidewalk together, damp from earlier rain.

“So why do I have to go to your place for this surprise?”

“Because I want you at my place.”

“Why?”

“Johnny, Johnny, you are not this slow. What could I possibly have to gain from enticing you to my abode?”

“I don’t know. Your latest victim?”

“Or, perhaps an actual surprise for you. Something you’ll like.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“So cynical. It will be a pleasure to surprise you.”

They walked in silence for near half a kilometer, only the street lamps lighting their way.

Jim opened his front door and walked right in, flipping the light switch to the foyer.

“Parents don’t care you’re out so late?” John asked.

“Parents don’t care at all. Not here. My room is this way,” Jim paraded down steps into the dank basement, and pulled the cord for the light at the bottom. The cinderblock room lit up, and John looked around them. The room overwhelmed him in industrial grey, cold and artificial. It felt unlived in, though signs were clear that Jim slept here. John wondered if it’s inertness said something about Jim, or more about Jim’s parents.

Either way, he stopped his gaze suddenly at a sturdy metal table in the corner of the boy’s room. On the shiny aluminium surface, lay a raccoon, eyes vacant and dead.

“Is that-“

“You know what it is. I got it for you.”

“You got me a dead raccoon?” John asked, cynical.

“You were disappointed about the frogs. I thought I’d make it up to you.”

“You got me a dead raccoon.” John repeated, but this time, his tone was affectionate. It was, in its own weird way, the sweetest gift he’d even been given. It was thoughtful; meaningful, and John was oddly touched.

Jim unwrapped a small leather roll to reveal a set of dissection tools, and stepped aside with an exaggerated hand motion. “For you, _Doctor_ Watson.”

John stepped forward to take a scalpel in his hand, “How’d you know I wanted to be a doctor?”

“You were disappointed you didn’t get to _dissect a frog_. It wasn’t a hard leap.”

John chuckled and made his way to the corpse, “I suppose. So, where’d you find a dead raccoon?”

Jim shrugged, “Outside, digging through the trash.”

The scalpel stopped just centimeters above the animal’s torso, “You killed it?”

“Sure. I needed something for you to cut open, and I’m kind of fond of Seb.”

John began the necropsy. He tilted his head towards Jim, but not his eye line, and asked as he opened the torso, “Why did you have to get me anything?”

Jim pretended to blush and giggle behind his hand, then when he noticed John’s hooked eyebrow and skepticism, shrugged, and admitted, “I noticed you. Noticing me.” Jim paused and frowned. “That was awful. Straight from a shitty B-level romantic comedy. Let’s try this again.”

Jim faked a cough, then corrected, “I intrigue you. I don’t actually scare you, but you know I’m dangerous. That appeals to you, so I’m good there. You like the accent, and you love the package-“ Jim swayed sexily, running his hands down his lithe form, “-so I decided to taste the goods, so to speak.”

John handed off the scalpel, and asked, “Have anything to cut open the ribcage?”

Jim pouted, but passed over a set of bolt cutters, “This ought to do the trick; the bones aren’t all that thick.”

John began to snip apart the ribs, and smirked, “So, that makes me the goods, then?”

“It does. And I don’t see you rushing to deny it.”

“Why would I? We all know you’re bloody brilliant. I don’t think lying is going to do me much good.”

“See, and this is why you interest me. You’re honest, clever, and a bit fucking hot, if I say so myself. I do enjoy the blonds.”

“Seb’s blond. Do you enjoy him?”

“Seb? No. Seb’s interesting, but boring,” Jim threw his head back in disgust, “He’s- I dunno. A fucking tiger. Fascinating, but still goddamned animal when it comes down to it. He’s only ever interested in the hunt. But the hunt is dull. Ordinary. The _puzzle_ is fun. _You’re_ fun.”

“I’m flattered,” John grinned, and opened up the raccoon’s chest to expose its organs.

-o-

John made it back to his bedroom with a few hours to spare and his parents none the wiser. He lay in his bed for nearly two hours, thinking of Jim, and his gift, and what it all meant. His eyes finally flickered shut, but within a half hour his alarm went off and he dragged himself out of bed for the second time. He dressed hurriedly, but as he made his way into the hallway, he caught sight of himself in a mirror. He looked like shit. And, today, he found he cared. He paused, willing to take the tardy in his first hour class. He pulled off his jumper, and pulled on a snug fitting button down with a vibrant leaf print. He shrugged on a jacket and zipped it half way up, and dashed to the bathroom again to add a bit of product.

He checked himself in the mirror again, and was much more pleased with his presentation. He felt confident, attractive, maybe even just a bit sexy. He smirked in the mirror, then remembered he’d spent the night disemboweling a raccoon in Jim Moriarty’s bedroom. The smirk broadened to a real smile, and he saw the blush come up in his reflection.

He missed Jim in the halls for the first two hours, but between second and third hour, they passed between biology and maths. Jim threw him a seductive wink. John licked his lips; then silently cursed himself for such an obvious tell.

He spent the day exhausted; daydreaming about Jim. His deep brown eyes; a flash of a feral forest creature as it dipped its head to drink from the river, lean and dangerous. Their depths intrigued him and he wondered if Jim would invite him over again. Would Jim take him down into that hollow hole of a bedroom, and fiercely crowd him against a wall? Would they walk in the woods, looking for another corpse, during which Jim would rake his fingers through John’s hair and drag them together with a passionate embrace?

Unsurprisingly, John was sentenced detention by his Early European History professor for his complete inattentiveness. He barely cared. It was Thursday, when detention was overseen by Mr. Wilson, an old codger who dozed through detention just as often as he sat by the window and smoked, staring out into the distance. As long as his body was present in the room, John could catch up on some much needed sleep.

-o-

The final bell rang, and John found his way to his locker to switch out his textbooks. He grabbed his chemistry text for some dull reading in case sleep was hard to come by. The lights in Wilson’s class were off, and only afternoon sunshine filtered in through the windows. John looked up as he entered the room, and saw a handful of other students seated already.

Among them, Jim sat, proud and devious, looking down at his mobile, texting furiously before Wilson commanded they set their mobiles away and focus on their school work. John’s eyes lit up and he took the seat to Jim’s left.

“Too exhausted to focus. You?” John asked.

“Waiting for you.” Jim turned with a delicious grin.

“Me? You got detention for me?”

“No, I got detention to bust you out.” Jim looked at the clock, and pointed at the door. John turned, and saw Wilson step in view as he did so. He turned to Jim with a inquisitory look, impressed with his ability to anticipate Wilson’s arrival nearly to the second.

Jim didn’t meet his gaze, but instead kept his eyes on Wilson. John followed suit. Wilson gave the same dry instructions that every professor did at the beginning of detention, then settled himself into his padded office chair. He took a sip of the tea he kept at his desk, and tilted his chin to his chest, snuggled comfortably into himself for a nap.

After a two minutes, Jim turned to John. “Alright, let’s go.”

“We can’t leave!” John whispered furiously.

“Sure we can. He’s out.”

“He always wakes up at the end of detention! If we’re not here, we’ll get in a shitload of hurt.”

“Won’t matter. He won’t wake up for hours,” Jim assured him, “I drugged him.”

“What?!” John exclaimed loudly, attracting the attention of the others.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s harmless. He’ll be fine. My place? I’ve another gift for you.”

John was momentarily distracted from Wilson by the promise of a gift, “Yeah?” He stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Cat,” Jim informed him, “Stray.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely.”


	3. Chapter 3

It became their routine, as the weeks went past. John lied to his father; he called it Biology Club and it kept him out of the war zone in his living room for two to three hours a night. He felt it was appropriate; given their afternoon activities. Jim would keep the corpse on ice when John was still exploring it; learning the way the cardiovascular and musculature systems worked in vertebrates. Mostly. One week he spent dissecting the large invertebrates Jim could access, which was a surprisingly large and varied amount. The most impressive was the wolf eel, native only up the west coast of Northern America.

Whenever he asked, Jim would brush him off with a sly smile, “I’ve got my ways, Johnny.”

But John saw the glint in his eye; not one of guilt, but of deferment. He suspected Jim was involved in something much more complicated and perhaps much more illegal than animal procurement for John’s pleasure. He couldn’t ask. He worried that if he found out too much, his damnable conscience, the same ignorant beast that goaded his father when the bigot spewed his vitriol, would deny him the only joy he’d had in years.

The hours he spent with Jim were relaxing. He felt a new tranquility with his adrenaline off, alert. His eyes could focus on the task in front of him, he didn’t need to be on constant peripheral awareness. His ears didn’t prick for the sound of footsteps; instead he and Jim joked, laughed about the morbidity of their hobby. Jim rarely joined in on the necropsies, but he listened to John talk. They bantered back and forth, and Jim occasionally stepped out to take or make a call.

At school, he found himself drawn to Jim and Seb’s side. The superficial friends he’d once made drifted away, but John didn’t care. These were the same people who said “How are you?” but never listened to the response. The ones who stood beside him in the locker room and never once mentioned the bruises. The ones who invited him to parties when Harry still lived at home and he could pilfer her alcohol stash. The ones whose invitations slowly disappeared when Harry did. John was friendly and cordial to his peers, but until the day Jim let loose an amphibian parade down the hallway, John felt cut off. Like being encased in a glass bubble.

And now, he wasn’t. Of course, the rumors started; their dangerous threesome constantly elicited a wide berth. It amused John, that by his very association with Jim Moriarty, people who’d once called him ‘ _friend’_ and ‘ _a good bloke’_ now muttered in the halls, “What the hell’s up with Watson?”

John even found Seb good company, though the bulky blond looked like every stereotype of dim jock he’d ever seen on afterschool specials. Seb may not have had any pure scientific interest, but he told elaborate tales of catching the animals John dissected, and his stories were woven with brilliant observations about wildlife and primal psychology. John shared his findings; how the brains differed, when he found tumors, why the mangy Siamese cat limped, and why the fox paused to vomit giving Seb the opening to pierce its heart with a precisely timed arrow.

Seb’s company did not carry over to Jim’s afternoon hospitality. Unlike John, Seb couldn’t get away with disappearing for hours at a time. His time to play was in the darkness of night, and John knew that Jim frequently accompanied him. John didn’t care; he reveled in Jim’s singular attentions.

-o-

Jim noticed immediately, despite John’s desperate attempts to hide it from him. He pulled John into an empty classroom within moments of seeing him wince in the hall after first hour.

“Show me.” Jim scowled when the door shut.

John tried to play dumb and gave Jim a quizzical look.

“No, John, don’t do that. Not to me.” Jim’s severity frightened him, “I know you. _Show me_.”

John turned around, away from Jim, but sloughed his backpack off and pulled off his jumper, then the tee underneath. He closed his eyes as he waited for Jim’s reaction, and jumped when he felt gentle fingers touched the bruised flesh. He felt Jim trace the purple welts on his chest and ribs, the sensitive nerves flinching as they expected a rougher touch.

“It’s him, right?” Jim demanded.

John’s voice caught in his throat, and he just nodded. Fear trembled through his body, though he wasn’t sure if the fear came from his father or from Jim. His father would, and had, hurt him, but Jim was capable of anything. John couldn’t imagine losing him. He barely held on with Jim’s support, his friendship, his twisted brand of kindness and manipulation.

Jim slid his fingers around John’s abdomen, and John jumped as the other hand circled him as well. Jim pressed up against him, arms around his waist. “You’re better than him, Johnny. Say the word, and I’ll take care of it.”

John basked in the feel of Jim’s embrace, but still shook his head, “No. I need you.” John felt his eyes widen at the confession, panicked, and corrected, “How else will I escape the bastard?” He didn’t quite know what Jim was offering, but he knew it couldn’t be good.

Jim spoke sweetly in his ear, “I’ll take care of you. Just let me know.”

-o-

“Come home with me tonight.” Jim didn’t bother to ask at the end of the day.

John hesitated, “I don’t know. I’m still exhausted from last night. I need to fucking sleep.”

“Come on over. You can kip on my bed for an hour or so,” Jim stared at him pointedly, “It’s not like Mummy or Daddy will notice.”

John cringed, but Jim was right. And strangely, he’d feel safer kipping on Jim’s bed than in his own; he never exactly knew what, or who, might wake him up. His father wouldn’t miss him, in fact much of his ranting the night before was exactly to that effect. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

This time, when he descended into Jim’s lair, he felt comfortable. He saw how, over time, Jim might not notice the Spartan conditions in which he lived; the complete and utter lack of personality the room held. John found himself at ease; Jim wasn’t defined by his surroundings but only by who he was. Jim’s confidence reassured him like a heirloom quilt, the warmth like love.

“Take your shoes off, but feel free to burrow under the covers. I’ll wake you in, what? An hour or two?”

“Give me an hour and a half?” John asked for permission, still not quite believing the offer before him.

“No problem, I’ve got some work to attend to,” Jim opened a door to a walk in closet that had been converted into a makeshift office. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he purred, flicked off the room light, and closed the office door. John was plunged into darkness, and fell  asleep within moments.

John woke slowly, disorientated by the unfamiliar sheets, near pitch black conditions, and the body he was pressed against. He blinked, and from the glow of a mobile he just barely made out the shadows in the room. Right; he’d taken a kip in Jim’s room. Which suggested the shoulder his head laid upon, and the body his right arm was draped across also belonged to Jim. He startled upwards, “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized with eyes wide and face stricken. He couldn’t believe he’d been so needy, so desperate, so _pathetic_ as to _cuddle_. He’d ruined all chances of letting any relationship progress naturally with this brilliant bloke. He had to get out of there. Change schools. Change his name. Leave the country. He scrambled off the bed, mortified, and grabbed his shoes and pack.

“Woah, woah woah!” Jim jumped up, waving his hands, “Calm down!”

John paused.

“Christ, don’t be stupid.” Jim rolled his eyes.

John shifted from embarrassed to irritated, but stayed silent.

“Think about it. Just think,” Jim turned, throwing his arms dramatically in the air, “Why can’t people just think?!”

John closed his eyes, trying to cipher through the information at his disposal, “I went to sleep, you said I could. You said you had to work. Then I woke up,” John’s cheeks burned red, “like that.”

Jim motioned for him to continue with exaggerated movements.

“Uh, so, you knew I was asleep, but you laid on the bed too. Why not? It’s your bed. But you knew I was asleep, and you didn’t try to wake me. Then I must have rolled towards you. And you-“ John stopped here, his sleep addled brain finally catching up, “-and you let me.”

John looked up, staring into Jim’s dark, expressive eyes. Jim’s eyes crinkled as he beamed.

“You let me. You-“ John turned, unwilling to believe it, “You liked it. Me. Like me.”

“When I said I wanted to sample the goods, what did you think I meant?”

“Something more… primal, I assumed. A quick fix, an easy mark.” John admitted, looking at the ground, “I mean, why else would you be interested?”

Jim walked towards John, stopping only centimeters away. His brow furrowed, and John felt as though he was being measured and examined.

John found himself on the ground, without warning, his chin smarting with the pain. He glared up, saw Jim’s fighting stance and the right hook that landed him on his arse. He hurried to regain his balance, growled, and tackled Jim, landing them both on the bed. John reeled back, punching Jim in the nose and watched it bleed. The red distracted him just long enough for Jim to buck up and flip them both. John gasped when the breath was punched out of his lungs, and wrapped his legs around Jim to attempt to salvage control. Jim backhanded him, hard, and John felt his cheekbone throb and burn. John grappled for a reach, finding Jim’s hair and pulling it back and to the side, shifting his weight to roll back on top.

Jim reached up, grabbing John’s neck with one hand, and a fistful of John’s hair with the other. Jim pulled him down, pressing upwards into John lips.

John moaned, arousal coursing through him as it replaced his rage like an electric current, as he tasted the copper of Jim’s blood. He snogged Jim thoroughly, the flavor of violence sending pleasure down his body and engorging his cock. He didn’t care. He slowly began rhythmically pressing himself into Jim, the friction dancing through his nerves with undeniable bliss.

Jim’s hands left John’s head and neck, and slid down his torso. He gripped John’s hips, offering encouragement to John’s writhing behavior, and then slid his fingers down the back of John’s jeans, carefully stroking the top curve of the blond’s arse.

John felt Jim’s hardness grow underneath him, and his hips renewed their vigor. He bit down slightly on Jim’s bottom lip, then pulled away, and heard Jim giggle underneath him. Jim bit back, hard, and John was certain Jim drew blood. It was painful and phenomenal and John cried out against Jim’s hot mouth. The trickling of blood commingled, and John felt a deep, satisfying connection with the genius beneath him. They both thrust against each other, tasting each other’s blood, and deep in John’s psyche, he knew that there was something very wrong with him. He didn’t care.

Together, they thrust dryly between their clothing, gasping and groaning on Jim’s bed, their cravings and desires thickening the air between them with sex and lust. John bit and kissed and lapped at the blood drying on Jim’s lips, and Jim nibbled and sucked to keep John’s blood flowing.

John came first, his cock hard against Jim’s and the friction between their jeans overwhelming the both of them. Jim followed soon thereafter, gaping breathlessly as his orgasm overtook him and dragged him down to the land of the living.

-o-

They lay side by side, breathing deeply. John coughed then admitted, “That was sudden.” He turned to face Jim, “And why the FUCK did you punch me?”

Jim put his hands behind his head as he continued to stare up at the ceiling. “I wanted to see you bleed. I wanted to be the last person who hurt you. Not him.” Jim paused. “And you liked it.”

“You didn’t know that; you _couldn’t_ have known that.” John protested, propping himself up on an elbow.

Jim shifted his eyes towards John, and crooked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Okay,” John relented, “You could.” He leaned back, adopting Jim’s pose, hands behind head. He sighed contentedly. “So, I seem to have come in my pants.”

“Yup.” Jim agreed, then laughed sharply, cutting himself off.

John snorted and Jim giggled. John chortled again, and Jim’s resolve broke. They both burst into laughter, gut-wrenching, breath-stealing, bellowing guffaws. They each held tight to their abdomens, doubled over, tears falling as they gasped for breath in between loud outbursts of joyous humor. John’s cheeks stretched so wide that they ached with the pull Jim’s eyes crinkled, and he beamed broadly. After several minutes of false stops, they finally calmed down, chuckling and giggling until it was possible to breath normally yet again.

“Jesus, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages,” John commented, and Jim looked up at the stormy ocean eyes, damp like summer rain.

Jim’s smile fell, and he crawled over, wiping the tears from John’s eyes with his thumbs. He caressed John’s jaw, and spoke with a hush, “But you cry this hard all the time, don’t you?”

John blinked hard, refusing to look, and two more tears fell down his cheeks.

“Look at me,” Jim commanded, and John heard something dark lurking in the echoes of his voice. He opened his eyes, and nearly froze at the fury burning black in Jim’s eyes.

“You’re mine now. No one will make you cry like that again.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://phipiohsum475.tumblr.com).


End file.
